


roman holiday

by theglitterati



Series: know you better & related stories [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Italy, LOVE-MAKING. IN THE SAKUATSU TAG., Love-Making, M/M, Miya Atsumu Cries During Sex, Travel, author went to Rome once eleven years ago and is just running with it, yes you heard that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: After dating for nine months, Atsumu and Kiyoomi take a trip to Rome together. Kiyoomi decides he's ready to take their relationship to the next level.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: know you better & related stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911892
Comments: 21
Kudos: 586





	roman holiday

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my SakuAtsu fic "know you better" and its related works. Can you read this as a standalone? Sure. Should you? No. Start at the beginning of the series and then come back here. You'll be glad you did.

Atsumu woke to bright sunlight streaming through the glass doors, warming the entire room. It was his first time waking up without an alarm clock in ages. It was also his first time waking up alone in a while, though he understood why when he spotted Kiyoomi on the balcony, stretched out like a sunning cat.

Atsumu pulled on his clothes from the day before and joined him, raking a hand through his hair. “Mornin’, babe,” he drawled, wrapping around Kiyoomi from behind and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Yer up early.”

“It’s almost eleven.”

“Damn, really?” They had arrived at the hotel at nine the night before, fresh off twenty-four hours in planes and airports. Atsumu flopped on the bed and immediately passed out; Kiyoomi spent twenty minutes cleaning the room to his standards then did the same. “So I slept for, like, fourteen hours? This jet lag thing’s nuts.” Atsumu, having never left Japan until now, had no experience with it.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Kiyoomi told him. “I’ve only been up for twenty minutes.”

“Long enough to get some food.” Atsumu pointed to the plate of pastries on the table. “Can I have some?” He didn’t wait for an answer before taking one. “Shit, that’s good.”

“Coffee’s good, too.” Kiyoomi slid his cup over so Atsumu could taste it. He agreed; it was rich and delicious.

He stole the cup, watching Kiyoomi over its rim. He rarely saw him outside without a mask on; Atsumu guessed, with their being on the third floor, Kiyoomi had decided they were far enough away from other people. The August sun suited him. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, and there was none of the usual tension in his shoulders as he gazed out over the charming Roman sidestreet.

“You’re staring."

“Sorry,” Atsumu said, not sorry at all. “Ya just look happy.”

Kiyoomi gave him a rare smile. “I am happy.” Atsumu nearly choked on his coffee; that smile was going to be the death of him one day.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Sightseeing.” Kiyoomi didn’t bother elaborating. Atsumu knew he had a whole tourn planned for them, and he was happy to follow along. “Then dinner, and the game.” The pro volleyball match had been Atsumu’s suggestion. When he found out the Roman team was playing a home game that night, he had insisted they get tickets.

“After that…” Kiyoomi looked away from him, out over the city. “I thought perhaps we could have sex.”

Atsumu grinned. “Hell yeah. Sounds like a fuckin’ wonderful day—”

Kiyoomi cut him off. “I meant real sex. Penetrative, anal sex.”

This time, Atsumu did choke. He pounded his chest, trying to dislodge the coffee that had gone down the wrong pipe, while Kiyoomi stared with alarm.

“First of all,” he wheezed, when he was able to speak again, “we _have_ real sex. Just ‘cause it’s not penetrative doesn’t mean it’s not real. But second of all, Jesus fuckin’ Christ, are ya tryin’ to kill me?”

“Killing you wouldn’t be conducive to use having sex."

“Omi.” Atsumu reached out and took his hand. “Ya said ya didn’t ever want to.”

“I said I wasn’t sure. I changed my mind.”

Atsumu wondered if his ears were working correctly. “Ya wanna do it here? In a hotel, where god knows how many other people have done it? Don’t ya think ya’d be more comfortable doin’ it at home?”

“Maybe. But I thought—” Kiyoomi gritted his teeth. “I thought this would be romantic.”

Atsumu went as buttery as one of their pastries. “It is romantic. Seriously. I just don’t want ya to do somethin’ yer gonna regret.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Kiyoomi said, squeezing his hand. “But I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t sure. I have stipulations, of course, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and… I want to do this."

“Well, if yer sure, then I’m willin’.” Fuck, he was a lot more than willing, now that the shock had worn off. He was getting antsy and excited. “Ya definitely wanna wait ‘til tonight? ‘Cause there’s a perfectly good bed right—”

“Tonight,” Kiyoomi said firmly. “First, I want to see Rome.”

*

They showered — together, though Kiyoomi wouldn’t let Atsumu get frisky — and headed out around noon. Their first destination was the Colosseum.

Atsumu had always been wary of educated people. He often felt insecure around them, having barely made it out of high school. But he’d discovered, since dating Sakusa, that sometimes being around smart people could be fun. Kiyoomi told him the history of the place as they lined up to get in. Atsumu knew less about it than he felt he should have, but Kiyoomi never made him feel stupid for not knowing something obvious. 

The outside wasn’t much to write home about — the entrance was a modern structure, and the outer walls were covered with scaffolding — but inside, the illusion that they had travelled back in time was powerful.

“It’s strange to think that it's really just an arena,” Kiyoomi said. They leaned on a railing, looking over the centre of the amphitheatre. “Same as we play in.”

“I can picture Bokkun down there, stompin’ heads,” Atsumu said. “Hey, who do ya think would win between you and me in a fight to the death?”

“Me,” Kiyoomi said, fast enough that Atsumu was insulted. “You’d be too busy playing to the crowd and a lion would eat you.”

“Heh. Yer probably not wrong.”

After leaving, they stopped for a quick lunch of sandwiches and fruit; dinner would be the big meal of the day. Atsumu pulled his phone out while Kiyoomi ordered for them — neither of them spoke Italian, but Kiyoomi’s English was working well for them so far. They’d had another tourist take a picture of them at the Colosseum, and Atsumu posted it on Instagram, asking in the caption which of them would win in a battle royale.

They had agreed to be public about the fact that they were on a trip together — Atsumu posted on social media so much that going off the grid for two weeks would raise too many questions. They were framing it as a bro trip, but when the camera was on them, Atsumu had raised an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. Bros could do that, too, right?

When Kiyoomi came back with their food, Atsumu shoved the phone in his face. “Look, we’re cute. And my followers totally think I'd kill ya first.”

“I don’t care what a biased audience of your minions thinks,” Kiyoomi said. “I would destroy you.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “That what yer plannin’ on doin’ to me tonight?”

“I— _Miya.”_

“Yer blushin’.”

“It’s forty-two degrees.”

“Keep yer excuses, Omi." Unfortunately, in trying to rile up Kiyoomi, Atsumu had riled himself up, too. Tonight couldn’t come fast enough.

They walked over to the Forum Romanum next, the ruins of the heart of the Roman Empire. The midday heat was intense, but Atsumu let Kiyoomi usher him around, explaining which broken columns and rock foundations were which. Atsumu actually thought the coolest part was drinking from an ancient-looking tap in the ground, imbibing the same water that gladiators and toga-wearing party boys had millenia earlier. Kiyoomi, to no one’s surprise, wouldn’t touch it.

Also nice was the fact that, after only a little begging, Kiyoomi let Atsumu hold his hand while they walked through the Forum and down winding streets, finishing their tour at the Pantheon. They had never done so in public in Japan, save for late night train rides in empty cars or under the tables in izakayas on night out with the team. There was too high a chance of them being recognized. (Atsumu didn’t think they were famous enough for that, but Sakusa insisted his stupid hair stood out.)

Here, they drew some stares. Maybe because they were gay, or Japanese, or because Kiyoomi was the only one for miles wearing a mask. Or maybe just because they were hot. Atsumu knew what he looked like, and Kiyoomi had succumbed to the heat and removed his jacket, his strong arms and tall frame stretching his thin, black t-shirt. People could stare all they wanted, Atsumu decided, as long as Kiyoomi’s hand stayed in his.

They returned to the hotel for a quick nap and a shower, then left for dinner. They had reservations at a semi-fancy pasta restaurant near the hotel. Kiyoomi ordered gnocchi with garlic sauce. Atsumu was dying to try cacio e pepe — nothing could be better than a giant plate of noodles and cheese — but he and Kiyoomi would absolutely not be having sex tonight if he ate that. He ordered spaghetti bolognese instead; he’d save the lactose-intense stuff for another day. Their main courses came with salad, bread with olive oil for dipping, and a glass of wine that had Atsumu smiling a little loopier than usual.

When the cheque came, Kiyoomi snapped it up before Atsumu could touch it. “Yer treatin’ me?” Atsumu said. “Damn, yer a good date.”

“You bought the tickets for the game.”

“Right,” Atsumu said. “Wait, ya said ya’d pay me back for yours!”

“Consider yourself paid. Let’s go.”

Atsumu pouted. The tickets were way more expensive than their meal.

They took a cab to the stadium and found their seats inside. It felt strange, being in the stands, rather than on the court. “Will you stop twitching?” Kiyoomi said.

“I wanna play!”

“Do you want me to go ask the team manager if they’ll let you?”

“Seriously?” Kiyoomi made a face. “Don’t be mean, Omi!”

“You make it _so_ easy.”

The game went to full sets; Atsumu and Kiyoomi kept up a running commentary the entire time. If any of their neighbours in the stands understood Japanese, they would have learned a lot. Neither of them particularly cared who won, but it was interesting to watch. If they ever played abroad, they could end up on a team with one of these guys. Hell, they could end up playing _against_ them, if they made their respective countries’ Olympic teams.

The crowd flooded out into the marginally-cooler evening. Atsumu was about to call another cab when Kiyoomi suggested they walk back. This time, he took Atsumu’s hand without asking.

“I’m just sayin’, all they got on us is height,” Atsumu babbled as they reached the next street over from their hotel. “Their technique was sloppy.”

“It was fine.”

“It was sloppy,” Atsumu insisted. Honestly, it _was_ fine, but sometimes Atsumu just liked arguing with him. Especially when it ended with Kiyoomi glancing around, then pulling him into an alley to kiss him breathless against a five-hundred-year-old building.

“Damn, Omi,” Atsumu whispered. “Somethin’ in that _ni-yo-ki_ got ya goin’?”

“You’re still not saying it right.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not the food, idiot. It’s you.” He pinned Atsumu to the wall with his stare, his eyes black in the dim light. Atsumu loved making him look at him like that. He wanted those eyes all over him.

He tugged on Kiyoomi’s hand. “Walk faster.”

They stumbled into their hotel room, Kiyoomi pressing Atsumu into the door the second it closed. He normally wasn’t so hot-blooded, but when he wanted something, he wanted it badly. Atsumu was all too happy to hand himself over, letting his mouth fall open so Kiyoomi could explore it.

Unfortunately, Kiyoomi found his restraint. “Shower,” he grunted, leaving Atsumu half-hard and panting. 

They’d planned the evening out that morning, to avoid anyone getting anxious in the middle of the act. They agreed they would both shower, Atsumu going second so he could prep himself during; Kiyoomi didn’t feel comfortable doing it. That was fine with Atsumu. Honestly, if Kiyoomi had told him he had to go running naked through the streets before he touched him, he’d have done it.

Kiyoomi exited the bathroom wearing sweatpants and nothing else. “Took ya long enough,” Atsumu said.

Kiyoomi pointed at the clock. “It took eleven minutes.”

“Too long,” Atsumu whined. He pinched Sakusa’s ass, escaping to the bathroom before he could be punished.

He realized, once he finished cleaning and prepping himself and started singing in the shower, how giddy he was. He was going to have sex! With Sakusa Kiyoomi, possibly the most gorgeous and unattainable guy he’d ever met! And somehow, Atsumu had not only attained him, but had fallen in love with him.

He stopped singing. He was _in love_ with Kiyoomi, and they were going to have sex. He was about to have penetrative sex for the first time with the first person he had ever loved.

_Holy shit._

The first thing Kiyoomi said when Atsumu left the bathroom was, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Yes.”

Atsumu ran a hand through his hair. “I’m kinda freakin’ out. Not ‘cause of anything ya did. I’m just nervous.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who’s done this before.”

“Yeah, but not with you!”

“It can’t be that different.” Kiyoomi pulled Atsumu onto the bed. He went without protest, settling on Kiyoomi’s lap, his robe riding up his thighs. “If you don’t want to—”

“Shh. I want to.” Nervous or not, the last thing he wanted to do was stop. “Do you want to?”

Kiyoomi spread his hands across Atsumu’s thighs, his fingertips dipping under the hem of the robe. It didn’t make Atsumu any calmer, but it did send heat spiraling through his stomach. “Yes.”

Atsumu smirked. “Well, okay then.”

Kiyoomi kissed him slowly, like he was trying to ease Atsumu’s worries. It worked; Kiyoomi knew him well. Atsumu let himself melt against Kiyoomi’s body, his back arching as Kiyoomi’s hands slid up to his waist under his robe — unimpeded, because he wore nothing underneath.

Atsumu took advantage of the fact that Kiyoomi was shirtless to touch him everywhere, running his hands across his chest, over his toned stomach. He liked Kiyoomi’s pale colouring, the few moles that dotted his skin. Atsumu tanned in the summer, but Kiyoomi never changed, the contrast of his fair skin with his dark hair forever making him resemble a cold, unflinching beauty from a painting.

There was nothing cold about the way he felt, though, as Atsumu carded fingers through his curls, kissed him rough and biting until his lips were red. He loved mussing him up like this. Atsumu probably looked the same or worse, considering the way his hips grinded needily against Kiyoomi’s of their own accord. He shed his robe and went up on his knees to divest Kiyoomi of his sweatpants, then went back to rutting against him, so much better with nothing between them. He was tempted to lean down and suck him off, but he knew Kiyoomi wouldn’t kiss him after, and he wanted to be kissed.

“I’m ready,” he breathed heavily against Kiyoomi’s skin. “I’m ready if you are.”

“I am.”

Atsumu grabbed the box of condoms they’d set out on the table. This was really happening, and he was nervous again. He wanted to put the condom on Kiyoomi, but he was afraid his hands might shake. He passed the box over and took the time to slick more lube against his entrance.

Kiyoomi looked up at him once the condom was in place. “How should we—”

“Just like this.” Atsumu decided unilaterally that he was going to be on top. It was Kiyoomi’s first time, and he deserved the best experience possible. “I’m gonna—” He couldn’t think of an elegant way to put it. “I’m gonna start.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu lifted up on his knees and sank down onto him.

The stretch was more than he expected. He hissed in discomfort; he’d definitely gone too fast.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. It’s— it’s just been a while since I did this, and yer not exactly small, Omi.” Atsumu pushed himself up and down a few times before sinking fully onto Kiyoomi. He rested his head against his shoulder. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu felt Kiyoomi’s arms wrap around him.

“How does it feel for you?”

“Fucking incredible,” Kiyoomi gritted out.

Atsumu laughed softly. “Good.” He tested out moving and found the burn had mostly dissipated. “Okay, good to go.”

All day, Atsumu had been imagining giving Kiyoomi the ride of his life. This was the one thing, ever, that Atsumu had more experience with, and he planned on using it to blow his boyfriend’s mind. Every trick he knew, every dirty word.

And then he saw Kiyoomi’s face, more open, more full of unconcealed emotion than he’d ever seen it. Atsumu started moving, but Kiyoomi never looked away from his face, almost like he couldn’t. 

Atsumu forgot all his plans. He pressed their chests together and rolled his hips gently, choosing instead to exert his energy by kissing Kiyoomi eagerly, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones with his fingertips. Kiyoomi was inside him, his arms wrapped around Atsumu’s waist, but still Atsumu wanted him closer. He wanted to be indivisible from him, to crawl inside his chest and build a home.

Atsumu wiped his eyes; his fingers came away wet.

“I love you,” he whispered in Kiyoomi’s ear. “I love you so much.”

Kiyoomi’s hips came up to meet his, the two of them crashing together like waves. “I love you, Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi pulled back, holding Atsumu's face in his hands. He stilled when he saw he was crying, but Atsumu shook his head. He didn’t want to stop.

“Yer incredible,” Atsumu mumbled. “Yer so— so— ah!” Kiyoomi had driven his hips up, hard. “Yer amazing, fuck, ya make me feel so good, so happy—”

 _“Atsumu,”_ Kiyoomi breathed, and then he was shaking underneath him as he came, and Atsumu could _feel_ it, oh, god. He brought his hand to his own cock, but Kiyoomi replaced it with his own. He spilled over both of them a moment later, muttering nonsense like _Kiyoomi_ and _happy_ and _perfect_ between frantic breaths.

He rested, head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, until Kiyoomi nudged him. “Shower,” he reminded him. They had agreed to clean up immediately after, but at least, this time, they would do it together.

They took their time, sharing shampoo and soap. When Atsumu used to sleep around, he had never lingered after sex, making excuses to either go home or get the guy out of his apartment. But he couldn’t seem to stop touching Kiyoomi, holding his wrist or pulling at his hair until Kiyoomi batted his hand away so he could rinse off.

Neither of them spoke until they were clean and back in bed — the room had two of them, so they didn’t need to worry about the sheets until morning.

“So. Did ya like it?”

“I did,” Kiyoomi said. “But it was also… really intense.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it…” Kiyoomi hesitated. “Is it always like that, for you?”

“Omi. It has never, ever been like that before.” Atsumu caught the hint of a smile on his lips in the darkness. 

“Did it gross ya out?” he asked. “I’m not gonna be mad, I’m just wonderin’.”

“No.” Kiyoomi blinked. “I actually didn’t even think about it.”

“Does that mean we can do it again?”

“I think so. Maybe not right away.”

“That’s fine, Omi. I got time.” Atsumu stretched his arms over his head, clenching his toes. Tomorrow, he was going to eat the cheesiest pasta he could find, lactose intolerance be damned.

“Mm,” Kiyoomi agreed quietly. He always got sleepy after sex. “‘Night, Atsumu.”

“‘Night, Omi.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Atsumu’s head. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

Kiyoomi passed out quickly, but Atsumu lay awake, listening to the sounds of nighttime in Rome through the window. He thought that right now, in this strange city, with this even stranger man, was possibly the happiest moment of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com!


End file.
